The Joy of Revenge

CHAPTER 155 Bob
Sheriff
I parked my car right in front of Jack and Liam. They stood rooted to the spot, obviously debating whether to approach me or not. From Bismarck, I was supposed to meet them at the Ol’ Barn. But instead here I was, angry as hell.
Go d da mmit! Why the f uck didn’t I check the bathroom to make sure the coast was clear?! Why didn’t I do my homework? Of all the screw ups I have done in my life, this was the
worst.
I banged on the steering wheel with the palms of my hands, releasing some of my pent up anger, but it wasn’t enough. I wanted to break something, anything…
G od, I was so stu pid! STU PID!
I thought my plan was fool proof. After getting stitches, I called an old friend of mine who I had bailed out from a jam a long while back. I helped him change his name and appearance, then I got him a job at Bismarck General as an unsuspecting security guard. It’s been twelve years since I saw him last, but he owed me a favor.
“Combs, I was wonderin’ when you’d call. I was shocked to find Ol’ Mary’s grandson admitted in the hospital under police custody. What’s goin’ on in New Salem anyway?” Bob asked.
Bob was Theodore Cohen’s favorite runner. Bob was a man of his word, never complained, and most importantly, he brought in lots of money. He was trusted by Theodore, so much so that he was allowed to sell in large quantities. I used to envy Bob’s relationship with the Cohens. He was one of the selected few who could visit the mansion without having
invitation.
an
Unfortunately, Bob made the mistake of supplying a huge amount of drugs to a new player in the field. Apparently, the new player was an undercover DEA agent. During what was supposed to be a routine deal, he found himself walking into a bust.
But Bob was a shrewd man. He knew something was wrong. So he brought a group of men to back him up. And just like what we’ve seen in the movies, they all ended up shooting at each
other. Bob alone survived to tell the tale of that fateful day, although to the townsfolk of
New Salem, he was deceased.
“Same old, same old,” I answered. “Same old sh it.”
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155 Bob
“Nah, this ain’t no drug bust,” he said, “this is somethin’ else. They got bodies piled up in the morgue, ‘but they ain’t got no drugs on them. I’ve been doin’ some snoopin’ around and they think Ol’ Mary’s grandson is part of some human trafficking syndicate. There’ve been reports of girls goin’ missin’ around Bismarck. You know, Combs, this kinda s hit wouldn’t be happenin’ if Cynthia was still boss.” Bob never liked Pete. To him, Pete was a little boy playing godfather.
“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Cynthia’s dead and we’re making the necessary arrangements to get rid of Pete. Once Liam becomes boss, there won’t be anymore girls going missing,” I promised.

has
“Well, they moved Riley to a corner room at the secluded area of the hospital, near the ICU. The police say they got some anonymous tip about an assassination,” Bob stated. “That area eyes at all times, but the computer system that powers the security around the hospital
minutes to is so sophisticated that it takes time for it to boot up. After reboot, it takes seven i be fully operational. That’ll give you enough time to break Riley out of his hospital prison.”
“This isn’t a rescue mission, Bob,” I mumbled through the phone. “I need to make sure he doesn’t make a peep.”
“Oh, I see. Poor Ol’ Mary ain’t gonna see her grandson ever again. Well, that’s karma,” Bob replied. “I’m guessin’ seven minutes will be enough to shoot him in the head or inject him with some sort of poison. All we need to do now is think of way to distract the guards and nurses in that area. So what time should I expect you?”
“Around five in the afternoon. That’ll give us enough time to finalize our plans. Get me so clothes to make me look like some doctor and a wig of some kind if you can find one,” I
instructed him.
“No problem. I already have somethin’ in mind. I’ll message you where you can meet me. See you, Combs.”
I arrived at the address he sent me at exactly five in the afternoon. It was the address of a laundry shop in a remote part of the city. I walked in and asked to see a man named Charlie. The woman at the counter took one look at me and asked who I was. She looked to be in her forties, with long curly brown hair, a full face of make-up, wearing a red top with a deep v that showed ample cleavage and a tight denim miniskirt. She leaned forward, giving me a
clear view of her breasts, as she waited for an answer.
“Tell him I’m an old friend,” I answered. She smiled sesuctively and ushered me inside.
“He’s waiting for you at his office. It’s the blue door at the very end,” the woman said,
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CHAPTER 155 Bob
pointing me to the right direction. “You can’t miss it.”
I followed her instructions and walked through the shop, looking for the blue door. After dodging clothing hanging on metal racks, I finally found what I was looking for, hidden behind a dry cleaning machine. I knocked on the door tentatively and patiently waited for an answer to come from inside. But instead of an answer, the door swung open, revealing Bob.
He was much older now and fatter. He had a pot belly, a dark moustache and a beard, and thin salt and pepper hair. He was wearing a plain white T-shirt and black slacks. He looked as if he was getting ready to go to work at the hospital.
He smiled at me, his teeth stained from coffee and cigarettes. Because of his old age and his fully grown moustache and beard, he didn’t have to dye his hair, wear colored contacts or wear loose clothing to mask his true self.
“Wow, Combs, you look as old as me,” Bob remarked, ushering me inside. “But it’s really nice to see a familiar face. After bein’ stuck in this hell hole, I sure miss the good old days.”
“I didn’t know you had a business,” I said noticing the currency counters on a long table on the left side of his rather large office. On the right of his office was a long leather sofa with a coffee table in front of it, while at the end, near a red wall, was a vintage wooden desk made of sturdy dark mahogany. It was a beautiful desk, varnished and gleaming under the light. It made me want to change the old desk in my office.
“Money launderin’ is actually quite profitable,” he said, chuckling, gesturing for me to sit in one of the leather chairs in front of the desk. “I started several years back, so I could keep tabs on New Salem. And in case you didn’t know, Daniel Williams is my number one client. Coffee or whiskey?”
I
“Whiskey. I need something to numb the pain,” replied, pointing to my stitches. He poured me drink from a small bar beside his desk and placed the glass on the mahogany table in
front of me.
“What happened to your head?” He asked.
“A riot,” I answered. “Some people just don’t have any respect for law enforcement.” He laughed, nodding his head.
“I know what you mean.” He laid a long sheet of paper on his desk, flattening the folds with his hands. I took a look and realized it was the blueprint of the hospital area Riley was transferred to.
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“Have you spoken to Bismarck police?” Bob asked. I nodded my head. “What have they told
you so far?”
“Riley’s unconscious. The detective on the case told me they called a few days ago to inform me, but Randy, the pri ck that he is, didn’t tell me. This would have been dealt with earlier if I had known about it sooner,” I said before sipping my drink.
“Matthews right?” He asked. I nodded my head. He shook his head. “He lied to you. Riley’s conscious. He just can’t talk or use both his hands. But knowin’ Matthews, he found a way to communicate with Riley. On the bright side though, Matthews is a lone wolf. He likes to investigate on his own and won’t tell anyone anythin’ until he has enough evidence. I’m sure whatever he already knows, no one else knows.”
“But he has files, Bob,” I pointed out. Bob nodded his head.
“Of course, he has files, Combs,” Bob said. “But not at the station. Too many police on someone else’s payroll. He has an office in his basement slash bunker.” I raised my
eyebrows, surprised to hear bunker. “Ah, yeah, he’s one of them folks who believes doomsday is right around the corner. I got the blueprint of his home right here.” He opened a drawer and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “But before we think of breakin’ into the detective’s home, let’s go over how you’re gonna enter and exit the hospital and what we’re gonna do to the
guards stationed in the hospital security monitorin’ room.“
“Alright,” I said, standing up and looking at the blueprint. “What do you propose?”